by Ken W. Smith
“What is it?”
“Your attacker’s dossier. His name is Reginald McFarland.”
“Oh, shit. That name sounds familiar.”
“I thought you would say that. I’ll let you read it, then let’s discuss our next steps.”
* * *
The plain manila folder contained a picture on the left side. It was a photo of McFarland in his SAS uniform. A second photo, taken more recently, showed him leaving a conference center building on the Marine Institute campus. He was wearing a black tuxedo and was accompanied by a young, dark-haired woman in a long, sequined dress. It was Olivia.
Jay’s blood began to boil, but he took a few deep breaths and kept reading.
The folder contained another picture. It showed Jay and McFarland fighting on the deck of the fishing boat on the Fourth of July. Jay didn’t remember the fight or the explosion that almost killed him.
He turned to the dossier:
Reginald McFarland
Known Aliases: Dwight Harris, Ph.D., Ronald Farrity, Stuart Colburn
Date of Birth: August 11, 1980
Place of Birth: Cambridge England.
Father: Herbert McFarland, a successful Scottish engineer, inventor, and college professor. Deceased. Cause of death: terrorist bombing, October 29, 1996
Mother: Julia Parsons McFarland. Born in St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada. Emigrated to England to attend Cambridge University. Deceased. Cause of death: Terrorist bombing, October 29, 1996
Sibling: Walter McFarland, born November 7, 1989. Deceased. Cause of death: Terrorist bombing, October 29, 1996.
Military Service: Enlisted into the British Army on October 29, 2004, and joined the Royal Regiment of Scotland after basic training. Served in Iraq for two years, then joined the Special Air Services (SAS) in 2006. Reported missing in action, Mosul, Iraq, in 2016.
* * *
Jay noticed a copy of an article from the London Evening Standard on the next page. It showed a picture and obituary of McFarland’s parents and younger brother. They were killed by an Irish Republican Army (IRA) bomb in London when McFarland was sixteen and away at Morton Hall, a boarding school in Edinburg, Scotland.
British Intelligence provided the next document. McFarland’s alias, Dwight Harris, appeared on the roster of the Maritime Academy in Newfoundland. He was listed as an adjunct Electronics Engineering professor. However, the US State Department couldn’t find any records of Harris entering or leaving the United States. The Brits found this suspicious since there was no record of attending any university to earn his master’s or doctorate. They also noted his employment at a US aerospace company under the alias Donald Farrity. The company manufactures drones for the US Navy and Army.
Jay noted the gap of one year in his background when McFarland disappeared in Mosul and reappeared working for the drone company.
The incidents in Woods Hole and Falmouth were also noted. The last document in the file was a warrant for his arrest for the July fourth incident.
Jay placed the folder on the desk and asked, “Is he alive, Mack? Could he have survived the explosion and escaped without anybody noticing?”
“Anything is possible. You survived.”
“Barely. If it weren’t for Kyle and his friends, I wouldn’t be here.”
“We didn’t recover his body, so I assume he is alive. He’s too dangerous to forget about. And he has a history of surviving near-death experiences.”
III
Part Three
Chapter 33
Federal Office Building, South Boston
Jay stopped outside the DHS conference room when he heard his name mentioned in a heated argument.
“Marty, wait,” Jay said before they went through the door.
“He shouldn’t be on the team,” Natalie Choi said. “He isn’t even a government official.”
“But he’s an integral part of the investigation,” a male voice said. Jay recognized it as McCoy. “McFarland has hurt him more than anyone else in this room.”
“That’s what I’m trying to say,” Choi said. “He is too tied into this case. Come on, this McFarland guy raped his girlfriend, blew his sister’s leg off, and tried to kill Jay three times. It doesn’t get more personal than that.”
“It doesn’t mean he won’t be an asset to the team,” McCauley said. “Natalie, you know Jay as well as anybody. Has he ever let his emotions get in the way of his job?”
“Well, he didn’t follow orders on the Coast Guard cutter in Falmouth. Commander Brennan said she ordered him not to board the lobster boat.”
“But he saved the lives of the Coast Guard operatives,” McCoy said. “Jay acted at the appropriate time and put his own life on the line.”
“Exactly,” Choi said. “And he almost died. When is he going to take a risk that’s going to get others killed? Like you, Mack. I can’t live with the prospect of going to your funeral or CJ’s or Madman’s.”
“Natalie,” Gia Khalil said. “You’re the one getting emotional. He’s not going to be doing any field operations for a long time. We don’t know how much strength he’ll be able to regain in his arms and legs.”
Jay’s face turned red as he listened to his team members talk about him. Finally, he pushed the door open and walked into the conference room. Natalie stopped talking midsentence and looked down at the table. Jay glared at her as he took his seat at the front of the table.
“If you don’t want me on the investigation team, please say so,” Jay said. “I don’t want to be a burden to anybody.”
Natalie stared at him as if he walked on water. “I didn’t mean for you to hear our conversation. I just…”
“I know, Natalie. I appreciate your concern.”
Jay felt the tension as the room fell silent. Finally, Mack broke the stalemate, “Come on, everyone, we have a bombing to solve.”
Jay and Marty took their seats at the conference room table. Gia Khalil sat next to Marty and Mack next to Karen Whitaker from the New York FBI field office. A young, blond man Jay didn’t know sat in a chair up against the wall.
“Okay, let’s get started,” McCoy said. “There are a few new members to our team. I’ll give them a chance to introduce themselves.
A brunette woman with oversized glasses and her hair pulled back in a tight bun stood up. “My name is Amanda Brigham. I’m a Deputy National Security Advisor representing the President.”
A young Asian man stood up next. “My name is Andrew Lee. I’m a Terrorism Analyst with the NSA.”
The third man, a rugged-looking African American man, stood up. Jay thought he recognized him from a previous special ops mission. “My name is Roger Beasley. I’m representing the CIA.”
“Thank you, everybody,” McCoy said, pointing to the man sitting against the wall, “I’d like to introduce one other task force member. His name is Oleg Crishenko. He’s a prosecutor with the Justice Department based here in Boston.”
Jay sized up the young prosecutor. His hair was unruly, and his eyes bloodshot. His suit hung off his shoulders like it was two sizes too big. He either borrowed it from his law school roommate or lost a lot of weight in a hurry.
“Oleg,” Jay said. “What cases have you worked on related to terrorism?”
“This is my first.”
“Terrorism case?”
“No, my first case. Period. I graduated from Harvard Law last spring.”
“Really?” Jay looked at McCoy.
“Oleg interned with me at DHS,” McCoy said. “He graduated first in his class at Harvard, and he turned down offers from several law firms in Boston and New York to work for the Justice Department. We’re lucky to have him as part of our task force.”
Jay looked at McCoy and shrugged his shoulders.
McCoy continued, “As you know, a lot has happened since we last met.”
McCoy launched a slide presentation on the front screen. A picture of Reginald McFarland appeared. “Special Agent McCauley, can you update us on the bom
bing case?”
Mack stood up. “Thanks to the hard work of the task force, we have a suspect in the Boston and New York bombings. His name is Reginald McFarland. In addition to the bombings and the sniper attack, we have a laundry list of accusations against this guy. He’s suspected of the murders of Falmouth Police officer Bill Shannon, Father Berle in Fall River, and the attempted murder of Bishop Ramirez. We also believe he kidnapped Charlotte Cranmore and Kyle McPhee and sexually assaulted Olivia Cataldo. Witnesses last saw McFarland on the evening of July fourth.”
“Do you mean he survived the explosion?” Gia asked.
“We don’t know. We didn’t find McFarland’s body, so we assume he survived. This guy is slippery and seems to have nine lives. The FBI has moved him to the top of our most-wanted list. I won’t declare him dead until I see him on the coroner’s table. Consider him armed and dangerous.”
“The Justice Department is convening a grand jury,” Crishenko said. “I’m writing up the indictments.”
“We have a new person of interest,” Mack said. “His name is Daniel McPhee. He may be an accomplice of McFarland’s.” A junior FBI staffer handed out information sheets to the task force members.
“He may be a victim of kidnapping,” Jay said. “He disappeared twelve years ago without a trace. He knew McFarland before the disappearance.”
“How are they connected?” FBI agent Wilkinson asked.
“They met working at a defense contractor. McFarland was an instructor and mentor to McPhee. They’re both electrical engineers with interests in robotics and drones.”
“I’ll need a FISA warrant to investigate McPhee’s internet activity,” said Lee from the NSA.”
“I’ll get that for you this morning,” Crishenko said.
“We still have the drone catcher from Falmouth in custody,” Mack said. “He’s provided little information, and we don’t have much to hold him on. If we don’t have an indictment within 48 hours, we’ll have to let him go.”
“He did identify the fishing boat in Barnstable Harbor,” Jay said. “Isn’t that enough evidence to implicate him in the explosion?”
“It’s a tough one to prove,” Crishenko said. “He could have been a witness or a business associate.”
“Any idea where the fishing boat originated from?” Gia asked.
“No, we haven’t been able to find any registration information,” Mack replied.
“I’d like permission to question him,” Gia said. “I’m experienced in coercing information out of suspects.”
“You’re a private citizen,” Brigham from the White House said. “You can’t use any enhanced interrogation techniques,”
“Oh, believe me, I won’t need to torture him to get him to talk.”
“I didn’t say torture.”
“But that’s what you meant,” Gia said.
“I’ll give you thirty minutes with him,” Mack said.
“Thanks, that will be more than enough.”
Chapter 34
One week later - Chance Cove, Newfoundland
Chance Cove was a sleepy village of three hundred people. Located on the Osprey Trail, the quiet town sat one hundred twenty-five kilometers west of St. John’s. Small single-story white homes dotted the wooded shoreline. It was tranquil, with a few seagulls sitting on rooftops looking for scraps of fish and a lone osprey hunting for a morning meal.
CJ and Madman peered through slots in their hunting blind, hidden in a stand of thick balsams. Madman peered through his spotting scope at the cluster of buildings below.
“Chief, we have a blue-hulled lobster boat pulling up to the dock,” Madman said in his headset.
“Got it,” Jay said from the operations center at Maravista headquarters. “How many boats are there now?”
“That makes three.”
“We need some close-up images. Is Gia in place?”
“I’m here, Chief,” she said on the radio. “I’m approaching the village now.”
Gia rode her trail bike up to the gated entrance of the small fishing company. Chance Cove Fisheries painted in black letters on the side of a white storage building. A rusted fence surrounded the compound, but Gia didn’t see a lock on the gate.
She removed her camera from its storage bag and took several photos of the compound. Two ‘80s era Plymouth sedans sat inside the gate. Otherwise, there was no activity.
“Looks quiet from here,” Gia said. “I’ll have to come back tonight to get a better look around.”
“You have company,” CJ said from his perch on the hillside above the village. “Looks like a police squad car heading south on Route 16.”
“Roger,” Gia said as she messed her hair up. She then unzipped her lycra cycling shirt to reveal an ample view of her cleavage. She leaned against the gate bent over at the waist.
The squad car stopped, and a young police officer stepped out of the driver’s side.
“Can I help you, miss?” the officer said. “It looks like you’re in a bit of distress, eh?”
“I’m… catching my breath,” Gia said. “The ride was a bit tougher than I thought.”
CJ smiled as he watched the police officer assessing Gia. He didn’t hide his attempt to check out her tanned, muscular legs.
“Do you have a bottle of water?” Gia asked as she stood up and faced the officer. Sweat dripped down her neck and chest as she leaned against the gate to the fishing company. She stood at least four inches taller than the young police officer.
“Ah, sure, ma’am. Let me grab one out of the squad car.”
He came back and handed her the bottle, which she drank in one swallow.
“Thanks so much,” Gia said. “I appreciate your help. I’m writing a travel story about hidden gems in Maritime Canada. I thought this village was intriguing.”
“I guess so,” the officer said. “It’s a pretty quiet place.”
“Do you mind posing for a picture? It will go with my article.”
“Sure, what’s the name of the magazine?”
“North Atlantic Travel. You can find it at Barnes and Nobles or buy it online at Amazon.”
“Barnes and Nobles, eh? There’s one over in St. John’s. I go there every Sunday with my folks when we go to church.”
“Can you tell me about this company?”
“Sure, they were a local family-owned business up until two years ago. Operated by the Williams for three generations.”
“Why did they sell?”
“I’m not sure. An overseas conglomerate bought them up. Paid them a real nice amount for the buildings and the boats.”
“What kind of fish do they catch?”
“Well, that’s what’s interesting. The company never sells any fish. The boats come in and out, and there are a bunch of people working here. But they never talk to any of the locals.”
“Where do the workers live? Here in the village?”
“No, ma’am. They stay in the buildings in the compound.”
“How do you know so much about them? Do you ever go in and talk with them?”
“People in the village talk. But nobody ever goes inside the compound. We’re not invited. The neighbors keep an eye on the place, and I hear them talking at the general store and in Mabel’s Coffee Shop.”
“Is there anything else interesting in this town?” Gia asked.
“Well, that’s the thing, ma’am. We don’t get too many tourists here because this is the end of the road. In fact, you’ll have to turn around and go back south if you want to continue on the scenic highway. Folks make that mistake all the time.”
“Well, thank you, officer. Oh, what’s your name. You know, for the article.”
“Oh yeah. I’m Sheriff Pete Jones.”
“You’re the head of the local police force?” Gia said. “That’s impressive.”
“I am the police force. We haven’t had a serious crime here in ten years. Some kids broke into a house last week, and once in a while, we have a car accident. Oth
erwise, it’s pretty quiet. If anything serious happens, we call the Mounties.”
Gia waved as the officer drove away.
“We go in tonight,” Jay said over the radio. “Gia put Kyle’s bots in a safe spot and rendezvous with the rest of the team. CJ, did you see anybody get off the fishing boat?”
“Negative,” CJ said. “But I can only see half the boat. The warehouse roof obscures my view.”
“See if you can find a better vantage point. Get going now, so you’re in place when the tactical team goes in tonight.”
“Roger,” CJ said.
“What time is the team going in?” Madman asked.
“At 02:00,” Jay replied. “We’re waiting for the RCMP team to arrive from Gander. Can we get a drone scan every thirty minutes starting at midnight? That will tell us if anything has changed.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if the RCMP provided a Reaper drone?” Gia said. “They can stay aloft for hours.”
“The RCMP team is bringing a small one. But until they get here, Kyle’s bots will work great.”
“As long as you keep them charged between flights,” Kyle said.
* * *
At midnight, Jay watched the feed from the drone on their VR headsets. Kyle made a visual pass with night vision. The images showed the compound was quiet, and two fishing boats sat at the dock.
“Hey, CJ,” Jay said. “There are only two fishing boats now. So what happened to the third?”
“I don’t know. There were three when we changed positions. One must have left during our transition. We’ve been watching non-stop since we settled into our new hide.”
“Kyle, let’s do a pass with infrared.”
“Okay,” Kyle said, smiling. Jay could tell he enjoyed being part of the team.
The new sensors Kyle installed penetrated the wood sidings of the buildings. Jay watched the infrared images. He expected to see several heat signatures from the workers inside the houses. But the sensors showed little activity.